Nostrum
by xTamashii
Summary: The workhouse is not the place for hope or happiness.  Arthur knows this all too well, as his life has been anything but cheery.  The last thing he needs is Alfred, but at the same time, he's the first thing he wants. -USxUK; AU-
1. In the Face of Desperation

I really, really should not be starting anything new. Seriously. I've got other fics to work on. But I've had this idea ever since I had to do a project in English and it simply refuses to leave me alone.

Since this is based on history I will try my best to remain as historically accurate as possible. Please note that many places and people in here may be entirely fictional and were made up out of necessity. It's much easier create fake history rather than butcher the real deal, right? But hey, don't worry. I'll be sure to remain as accurate as possible in terms of the main point of this story. First, however, some of you may not be familiar with the subject material I will be writing about so before we start, here's a brief history lesson (yay, history, right? XD).

**The New Poor Laws (1834-1871):**

During the Victorian Era in England, a series of laws were passed known as the Poor Laws. These were supposed to reduce the cost of taking care of the poor as well as to help take them off the streets. Thanks to these laws, the workhouses were formed. Workhouses were essentially a place where poor could go and work hard in return for food, clothing, and shelter, as well as education for children. However, conditions within the workhouses were deliberately harsh so that people wouldn't _want_ to work there. Families were separated, everyone was forced to wear a uniform, the food was bland and the work was difficult, and rules were strict. Children were even sometimes shipped off to mines or factories. In addition to this, the poor were subjected to the cruelties of unkind masters and matrons who abused the rules and treated them terribly.

So basically, you just need to know this: workhouses = very bad. We understand, yes? Think of them as something like prisons, because that's basically how horrid the conditions were. They were gross and the poor weren't treated nicely at all. Hence, these laws were really unpopular among most Victorians.

On a side note, Scrooge briefly mentions the laws and the workhouses in the novel _A Christmas Carol. _It does take place during the Victorian Era, after all.

Long author's note is long, but you really need to know this to understand the story, if you didn't already.

Now on with the first chapter~

* * *

**I.**

_In the Face of Desperation_

* * *

There were some days that Arthur Kirkland wondered if his life would have been different had his parents been alive, or had his relationship with his brothers been just a little bit better. As it was, however, things had already happened that time would never change and that _he _could never change. He wasn't about to lie and say he was satisfied with his life thus far; in all honesty, he was entirely displeased with himself and his circumstances, for more than just a few reasons.

The Kirklands had been a highly esteemed family. They had owned a large, beautiful home as well as several villas, and had more money than what they knew what to do with, most of the time. The people within the family were reasonably well-liked and had a prominent place in society. They were comfortable with their wealth and never could have imagined a life without their vast amount of money. Perhaps it was vain, but it was in this family that Arthur had grown up. His parents had told him constantly as a child that keeping a hold of their wealth was important, and was raised with the mindset that nothing else could hold a candle to the value of money.

He was apprenticed to his father, just as all his brothers before him had and just as his little brother after him would be, once he was of age, that is. Though he and his older brothers were close in age, they almost never got along; they had only ever put on a front to please their parents. Their little squabbles and scuffles were always kept to themselves.

Arthur put up with his brothers, enduring their taunts and sneers and realizing that they only did what they did out of hopeless envy. He felt esteemed to know his father favored him over his elder siblings and was more than proud to be a Kirkland.

Arthur had never cared much for the poor. Truth be told, he never really spared them a thought or even a glance if he were to pass them in the streets. He didn't find them disgusting or filthy as the rest of his family did, but he never pitied them either. He always pretended that they didn't exist, pretended that he didn't see them as he passed by, pretended he didn't see the pain and longing clouding their eyes as they watched him, eyes fixated upon his expensive clothing.

It was better that way, he had thought. If he were to pay no attention to them, the problem would simply not be there.

It wasn't the right way of thinking, and deep down, he knew this. He simply chose to ignore what his conscience was telling him and hung on his father's every word and belief. It was his father's advice that mattered most, after all. He was the one person Arthur most respected.

As much as he tried to live up to his father's expectations, there were always things he hid from him. Such has his sexual preference for men over women. Oh he knew he couldn't deny it, not to himself. He had tried, truly, but no woman had ever really caught his eye and he more often than not caught himself watching the handsome young noblemen he so often saw at his parent's parties.

Despite this, he only ever wanted to please his father. Whenever his father brought him a woman, a possible bride, he could only at most tolerate any woman. He got along with them for his father's sake, and that was that. Mr. Kirkland had never once suspected a thing about his son never liking the young girls he introduced to him; he only assumed that the women were never to his liking. His father had once joked that he was 'a difficult one to please' and Arthur had only replied with a nervous chuckle.

Though it seemed superficial, he had loved his life. It wasn't only because of the comforts and luxuries that came with being rich, oh no. The one thing he missed was having his family, and that was the one thing he could never have back again.

The day it had happened had begun just like any other day might have.

Arthur awoke, had breakfast with his family, played with little Peter in the garden. He helped his father with work and learned embroidery from his mother (as feminine as that was) before he had alone time. During this time he would often sit alone in their personal library and read. He would read until his vision blurred, he would read until he could fill his brain with no more words. However, something was different on this night. His parents were out, as they usually were at this time. They usually went to have dinner, attend a play, or show up at some sort of private party thrown by an acquaintance.

But tonight felt different. Arthur recalled trying to figure out why. Peter? No, he was already asleep, tired out from a day of dashing about in the garden with Arthur. His brothers? They didn't live with them anymore, they each had homes and wives of their own. So what was this strange prickly feeling he couldn't quite shake? Figuring he must simply be tired or something along those lines, Arthur had put down his book and decided to go to bed. Perhaps that would make the feeling go away.

He had slept restlessly that night. He had nightmares that he couldn't remember even a little bit of when he awoke. Feeling worse than before, Arthur headed downstairs, only to come face to face with the family's butler.

The man looked grim. Grimmer than usual, even, since he was normally a stoic fellow. He only wordlessly handed an envelope to Arthur. And envelope whose contents would send his life into a downward spiral.

His parents had been killed. Robbed and shot, the both of them. He recalled a strange numbness overtaking his entire body. He recalled dropping the paper, letting it slip away between his suddenly cold fingers. He remembered the butler, kindly putting a hand on his shoulder and asking if he was quite alright.

From that point on, life was a blur.

His brothers found it more or less amusing that the Kirklands had met such an unfortunate end, but of course they only showed this side of them to him. In front of others they were nothing but solemn and filled with grief. It was such a lie that it deeply disgusted Arthur.

He and his brothers had a disagreement. A big disagreement that involved traded blows and thrown objects. A disagreement that left him staring at the outside of his brother's front door, sore and angry and in utter shock, and wondering how he'd gotten there.

They were done with him, they'd said. Done with a blasphemous little brother like himself and don't think that they didn't know his secret. Oh, they knew. And that was only another reason for them to despise him. He had monopolized father, and was on the verge of corrupting Peter, too. He was a disgrace to the Kirkland name.

Thus he found himself on the streets, the cruel wind whipping through his hair and tearing at his clothes. And on the streets he stayed, for quite some time. How long, Arthur couldn't be certain. He had lost track of time long ago.

Reminiscing exhausted him.

As much as he hated thinking of the past, he sometimes wondered how Peter was...and wondered if he missed him, even a little bit.

He leaned back against the wall, clutching the ragged blanket more tightly about himself. It provided essentially no warmth, but it was better than nothing and had been something of a lucky find. As lucky as that may have been, he still hadn't eaten in what he was sure was days now and had no time to consider anything about his situation lucky.

And oh, the irony of his situation now. He hadn't bothered sparing the poor a second glance and now he was one of them. Was this divine retribution for not caring? Maybe. Perhaps that's all this entire thing was. A sarcastic snort of laughter left him.

He was tired of living like this. He had no home and was entirely alone. His brothers couldn't have cared less about his well being. It was better off for them if he was dead. He curled deeper into himself and considered something he had been for a while now.

At first he thought he could endure this, but as time went on, it became apparent that death was his only option if he were to stay out here any longer. He was wasting away and he knew it. He could feel it in his very bones.

His usually vivid eyes had dulled to a disgusting shade of moss green and his hair was caked with grime and even more untamed than it usually was. What was left of his clothing had dulled to a sickly gray color and his shoes were nearly completely worn down. The bags under his eyes stood out starkly against his pallid skin and seemed to be almost permanent now. He was already a slender person and was now surely stick thin. He didn't want to know what he looked like beneath his clothes so he didn't chance it, but he could tell whenever he looked at his hands that he was so much thinner than he used to be.

Death seemed almost pleasant, now.

As nice as the thought seemed, he didn't really _want_ to die. He would live on if he could help it. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

There was one way. One way he could escape this fate. It was the _only_ way and he wanted to avoid it if he could help it.

He had heard things from people about them. The workhouses, that is. They would provide you food and shelter in exchange for work. But the work was painfully difficult and the workhouses themselves were frowned upon by nearly everyone...but for some people, it was the only option left. An option that was slowly beginning to seem like Arthur's only choice.

So Arthur closed his eyes and thought. He thought of his father, tall, strong, and handsome, even as he aged. He thought of his mother, fair, beautiful, but sharp tongued and clever. His chest ached as he thought of them. They would surely want him to live, right? And then there was Peter. Arrogant little Peter who was something like his only friend.

When he opened his eyes, Arthur knew what his choice was. His mind was probably already made up.

The workhouse it was.

Besides, it couldn't possibly be worse than this.

* * *

There was a time when Alfred was happy.

Though their parents had died when they were quite young, he couldn't recall being any happier than he was when he was with Matthew.

Matthew was his younger brother, and he was a shy, gentle soul. He usually made Alfred feel a little better even when his day had been absolutely terrible. His encouragement was sometimes absolutely required for Alfred to even get through a particularly bad day.

Despite this, he _was_ happy. At least, for a while. He worked hard and worked often, he worked to pay off their debts and worked to keep a roof over his and Matthew's heads. It was the most he could do for his brother, but Matthew never complained.

Though they were lacking money, they had each other and for a time, Alfred was sure that was all he needed.

He worked three different jobs a day, sometimes four or five if he could. Matthew worried about him constantly, but Alfred brushed it off like it was nothing. And it was nothing, really. He would do whatever he had to in order to keep his brother off the streets. He would protect Matthew, without fail. He had no doubt it was what their parents would have wanted, and it made Alfred feel just a little bit better about things to have someone to take care of.

But just as he took care of them financially, Matthew took care of them in a different way. Ever the optimist, Matthew was the only thing standing between Alfred and complete loss of hope. He remembered telling Matthew this once, but he had only stared at his brother with wide eyes, not sure how to respond. Later, however, Alfred had laughed it off and thrown an arm around his little brother's shoulders, telling him that it was all just a joke and that he shouldn't worry about him at all. To that Matthew had smiled weakly, still not entirely believing him but accepting his words nonetheless.

At one point, Alfred had nearly worked himself to exhaustion, much to Matthew's worry. All he remembered was waking up and seeing Matthew's stark white face and remembered him asking to never do that to him again. In addition, he had insisted that he take up a job or two as well. Alfred had strongly disagreed at first, but Matthew refused to budge. Reluctantly, he agreed to let him take up a job.

After that, things were going well again.

Alfred had little interest in things like romance or courting, and he hardly had the time to think about such things, anyway. Occasionally he would catch a young woman staring at him while he was at work, her eyes fixed on his toned figure as he worked. He would only pause in what he was doing and smile and wave in return, usually causing her to gasp and dash away as quickly as one could in skirts that billowy. (He never did understand why women dressed like that, honestly. He supposed it was the fashion, though.)

He found it a little funny, really. He got along well with women, for the most part - that is, if they even had the courage to talk to a poor man like him. Most didn't, but those who did were quite charming and certainly made their interest in him apparently. It was flattering, really, that the opposite sex was attracted to him. The ironic part was that he wasn't even sure if he had an interest in women.

Well, perhaps he did and simply didn't have the opportunity for much experience. Then again, he wasn't interested in romance in general so it was too soon to say exactly what his preference was, or if he even had one. Mathew often told him he should find a nice woman and settle down rather than working so hard, but he would brush it off with a smile and a laugh, saying he didn't need any of that right now and that no woman could measure up to how amazing he was. At this, Matthew would usually roll his eyes and drop the subject.

He didn't want or need anyone else in his life. After all, he would just be dragging someone else into his issues. He really didn't want to force anyone to live his life. No one deserved that.

But his life was fine, he convinced himself. It was fine as it was. Money was scarce but they could pull through, right?

Perhaps, Alfred later realized, he was only lying to himself even then. Perhaps his entire so-called 'happiness' had always been just a farce. He really didn't like thinking of it like that, though. He liked to believe that he was happy at some point in time. Or he would swear on the Queen's name that happiness really must not even exist.

Things were getting worse. He didn't notice at first, since Matthew hid it so well, but it was clear he wasn't quite as energetic as he used to be. His brother was even paler than usual and looked something like a wilted flower. He tried to cover it up whenever Alfred was looking, but when he thought he wasn't, he would droop and make it obvious that he was anything but fine.

As time passed, it became apparent that Matthew was probably ill and that they certainly didn't have the money to deal with that. Alfred forced Matthew to quit his job and stay at home, hoping and praying that just a little bit of rest would make whatever he had go away. But that didn't happen. He still looked terrible, he still coughed every night even though he tried to stifle them and hide it from Alfred, he still swayed on his feet when he was standing perfectly still.

They were running out of options now. There was only one thing Alfred could think of.

Perhaps Matthew would despise him for doing this, but it was the only way he could think of to save his brother. Matthew was all he had left anymore. He didn't want him to die.

In reality, Matthew was only his half brother. There was still some of Matthew's family alive, and they were certainly not fond of Alfred, but it was the only thing he could think of. He had to save Matthew. He had to.

So he set off that day, more than prepared to beg on his knees.

He was gone nearly all day and when he came back that night, Matthew came to him at the door, worrying incessantly. Alfred could only smile halfheartedly before taking one of Matthew's cold hands in his own and telling him what he needed to do. Matthew refused, violently. No, he didn't want to go live with the family he barely knew and no, he didn't want to take all the money they had left and _no_ he _definitely_ didn't want Alfred to work himself into exhaustion or wind up on the streets or something equally as terrible.

But this was one time he wouldn't be swayed by his brother.

It was a few hours later that Matthew was taken away in a carriage, shooting Alfred an accusing look out the window as they drove away.

There was nothing else that could be done. Alfred had made his choice and now at least Matthew had the opportunity to live. If he were to stay in their ramshackle little home with Alfred any longer then where was no way he would live. He would only waste away slowly.

Alfred figured he could manage on his own. He was strong, both emotionally and physically and wasn't about to give in to something like poverty. No, despite how poor he was, he had spirit and nothing could crush that.

Not even after he lost his home. Not even after he was forced to quit from all his jobs. Not even after he was sitting in an alleyway.

He had done the right thing and he wouldn't wallow in regret. He would get over this, he had to.

Even though that was how he felt, things were looking grim. If he didn't find work or food soon, he would starve to death out here in the streets like an animal, like so many others surely had and still did every day.

He was wondering exactly what he would do with himself until he heard about it. There were murmurs, disgusted murmurs at that, but he still heard them. He practically jumped up and ran over to one of the people, grabbing them by the shoulders, asking if they perhaps knew where this workhouse was? They only shot him a look before walking away.

Alfred wasn't exactly very up to date on politics, but he _had_ heard a little about the new laws. And the more he listened around, the worse it sounded. Some of those rich, snobby types turned their noses up at the idea of getting rid of the workhouses, saying it took the filthiest of cretins off the streets and out of their sight. Truthfully, Alfred had always had a strong desire to punch people like that in the nose, maybe just once. But he refrained from it, figuring it really wouldn't help his situation.

Mind made up, he followed where those murmurs took him and knew that his infallible spirit would help him through this. Whatever this was.

He wondered at the back of his mind if he would ever wind up regretting this, though.

* * *

"Lazy arses! Who gave you permission to laze about like this?" A crack of the man's whip sent the stragglers scattering, returning to their respective work areas.

Arthur scowled, hating every minute of this with his very soul. He wasn't stupid enough to voice his opinions or try to slack off, however. That just got you into even worse trouble.

It was a well known fact that the master here was a damnable bastard who couldn't care less about the well-being of the workers. He cracked his whip sometimes just because he could, making some who had felt the bite of it before jump. Arthur had felt the lash of that whip maybe once or twice, but he hadn't actually received punishment that involved a serious whipping. He didn't even want to imagine what that might feel like. He steadied his tool over the pile of old, rotted bones that lay before him and continued crushing them, not even flinching in disgust. He'd just gotten used to it, he supposed.

He heard the crack of the whip sound several more times, his sizable eyebrows furrowing even further. Oh if he could he would turn and toss his tools at the man's head, but he was sure that would just land him in prison. Oh, wait, he was practically _in_ prison now, so what did that matter?

Arthur sighed as he continued working, knowing that sulking wouldn't make him feel any better about things. Why had he joined the workhouse in the first place? Oh, right. He had no bleeding choice. Curse it all.

He was so focused on venting his bitterness on crushing the bones that he jumped when his table mate tapped him on the shoulder, looking a little apologetic.

"Would you mind if I borrowed that? Mine broke." He indicated to one of Arthur's extra hammers. Arthur only nodded in response, focusing on his task as he turned slightly to hand over what the man had requested.

And he froze for a moment. He swore to himself that there was no way he'd ever find another man attractive again as long as he was in this hellhole, but there was no denying that this man...this man was _stunning_.

"Um...?" The man tugged lightly at the hammer that Arthur was suddenly gripping very tightly, refusing to let go of.

"Ah, er, I apologize." He said quickly, his voice raspy so he quickly cleared his throat and handed the hammer over. "Here." He whispered, not wanting his voice to crack again and not relishing the idea of the master overhearing them talking.

Arthur swore that when he smiled he felt his knees go weak slightly so he quickly returned to his work, crushing the bones with a newfound fervor. He was sure that if he continued at this rate he would have the most done out of anyone there.

"So, what's your name?" Arthur frowned; was this man stupid? He had hoped that would be the end of their conversation and that he could maybe occasionally glance over at him out of the corner of his eye just because he was definitely easy on the eyes, (especially when one was trapped in a place like this) but he didn't relish the idea of being overheard by the master from hell who's favorite pastime was whipping the poor and decrepit. Strangely enough, though, he found himself answering in a whisper again before he could stop himself.

"Arthur." He whispered, his voice having gone hoarse again. The man smiled, his cornflower blue eyes practically glowing in the dimness of the dingy workroom.

They both fell silent for a moment as they continued working. It had been so long since someone had asked for his name. Arthur had to fight the smile that was making his lips twitch. No, none of that now. None of that. This was neither the time nor place (and certainly not the place) for something like this.

"I'm Alfred." He replied, and though he wasn't looking, Arthur could hear a smile in his voice. "Haven't seen anyone around my age here. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine." Arthur replied quietly, and it really was. Oh, it _really _was. He nearly smashed his fingers along with the bones more than once, but managed to somehow fill his quota by the end of the working hours.

Later, as they were lined up for supper and served the inedible looking gray glop that the workhouses called 'food' Arthur's heart felt lighter than he had since he'd joined the workhouses. Perhaps even since his parents were murdered. All of that seemed like ages ago, now.

As he took his seat on the bench, shifting just right so he wouldn't wind up with an arse full of splinters, he hadn't expected to be joined by Alfred, shooting him that brilliant smile again before digging into the gruel.

Little did Arthur know that Alfred would become his light in this place that dripped with darkness and despair.

For the first time since his parents died, Arthur allowed himself to feel the tiniest, smallest spark of hope.

* * *

Oh goodness me. I wrote this all in one sitting and let me tell you, I haven't written so many words at once in a long time.

I realize that my portrayal (brief as it was in this chapter) of the workhouse may not be entirely accurate. This chapter was only meant to give you a preview of how life will be for Alfred and Arthur in the workhouses, though it will be touched on further in future chapters. The main intention of this chapter was backstory, as you can see, I'm sure. Their stories are very important and will play roles later on. For now though, I'm going to add some extra information not mentioned above just in case anyone gets confused.

-Arthur is 22, Alfred is 19. So I kept Alfred's canon age the same while I made Arthur a bit younger.  
-The year is 1840 and it starts off in about the fall.  
-The workhouse here is loosely based off the Andover workhouse, which was actually one of the most scandalous workhouses out there. Look it up if you don't know what it is, haha.  
-This is slash. Therefore there will be romance. It won't be easy, but it will happen. XD Rating may or may not go up, I'm thinking about it. Let me know if you guys would like it to actually go up later or if you prefer it to just stay the same.

So that's all I have to say! I haven't written a historical story before and this is such fun so far. Again, I apologize profusely for any and all inaccuracies but I will do my best to stay as true to history as possible. :)

Thanks for reading, and I do hope you'll review. -bow-


	2. From the Blood of the Toiling

You all can be my darlings and I think I should like to marry each and every one of you and become a polygamist ;3

Seriously, though. I hadn't expected to get the praise I did and it makes me oh so very happy. I thought I'd be terrible since this is my first historical fic, and I thought people might tear into me for the slightest inaccuracy but...I suppose I was wrong. And I'm glad I was wrong. XD Oh whatever made me deserving of your lovely reviews?

I, um, don't have anything to say which is surprising considering just how long the previous author's note was. Ahaha. I don't have any more history lessons for you at the moment but perhaps in the future if it's at all necessary.

For now, read on and prepare yourself for possibly detailed mentions of torture~!

...And the sadist in me surfaces. -sigh-

Read on~

* * *

**II.**

_From the Blood of the Toiling_

* * *

What day was it today?

Arthur couldn't quite recall and it was so hard to keep track of time in here sometimes. Was it Thursday? Friday? Saturday? He knew it wasn't Sunday since there was no work on that day, at least. Thank goodness for religion.

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly, shivering slightly as he moved to change into his uniform that rested at the end of his barrack, folded neatly.

The uniform itself was nothing special; it was dark, shapeless, and just as dreary looking as everything was in the workhouse. Additionally, it was just the slightest bit too big for him so even when he buttoned the collar up as high as it would go, a large portion of his neck and the junction between his neck and shoulder remained more visible than he would have liked. However, complaining about trivial things were not in his nature and would quite possibly land him in a good amount of trouble. He didn't relish the thought of being locked away without food. The meals here were small enough as it was.

He stretched his stiff and tired muscles in an attempt to warm his body up. It was work, work, and work again today. Not that Arthur ever expected some miraculous change in schedule. He hoped vaguely it was the bones again, he had gotten quite good at that. The smell, however, did take some getting used to and occasionally made some of the newer people ill. Vomit certainly didn't add to the pleasant aroma of the workrooms, that was for certain. Plus some rather irate staffers would have to drag the ill worker away, swearing under their breath all the while.

Arthur was always strangely tempted to laugh at moments like this. And he'd never been made ill by the stench before, mind you. He had a slightly stronger stomach than that, though he did recall having food poisoning at one point or another. That was far from an enjoyable experience and he was unsurprised to find the master feeling a bit bitter toward him for skiving off work. What else was he to do, vomit all over the stones they were supposed to have been breaking? Not a chance. However he must have given the master some kind of 'defiant glare' for the whip caught him on the neck, leaving a welt there that still hadn't faded completely. From that moment on, Arthur knew to be careful with the food and not eat too much too quickly and resolved to practice a perfect blank and 'submissive' expression.

But ah, the 'master'. Or the 'governor', call him what you will, but he was a demon wearing human skin. That was what many workers believed, and whispered as such behind his back.

The man's name was Oscar Donovan, or Lord Oscar Donovan if you please. He was tall and broad shouldered, with an angular head much like a serpent's. His eyes were sharp, beady, and calculating, the eyes of a predator who was more than prepared to strike. His dark hair was kept closely cropped though his beard was longer, straggling from his somewhat pointed chin. He had the thinnest lips Arthur had ever seen, and when he smiled, it looked more like a sneer.

Though in all honesty, his wife was no better. Patsy Donovan at first appeared to be a kindly woman, but it was really all a farce. As Arthur had learned from experience, she was more than a bit evil and loved manipulation. Her image mattered hugely to her so she never often revealed her true self to anyone. However, if you were to get on her bad side and wind up receiving punishment, perhaps you were better off receiving punishment of the physical kind from Lord Donovan. Her smooth, curved figure and haughty, calculating eyes were pretty at first, but fairly wicked upon closer inspection. Her hair hung in flouncy little ringlets about her pallid, prominent cheekbones.

The Donovans were undoubtedly a handsome couple. That much was unquestionable; how else would they have received the role of master and matron here? They were charming, flattering in a way that made your skin tingle and left you wondering exactly what had just given you the chills. For when Arthur first arrived, they were nothing but sweet to him. Almost sickly sweet, in fact, like rotting fruit doused with honey.

Arthur was clever, though, and had the good fortune of being able to read people fairly well. His father had always told him that reading someone was important, especially in business; you could tell what someone was plotting if you looked deeply enough into their eyes.

The eyes of the Donovans were cold, dark pits, just daring one to gaze too deeply into them so they could be swallowed whole.

In all honesty, it was wisest to avoid the Donovans at all costs. They were simply not worth dealing with, especially when dealing with them in the first place left you in for a world of hurt.

Arthur filed out of the barracks along with the other male workers, each and every one of them looking haggard and worn down. That was simply life here, Arthur supposed. He was sure he didn't look much better, but he didn't particularly want to look at himself to find out. Besides, it wasn't like he had anyone _to_ look good for, so what was the point in bothering?

He jumped as someone clapped him on the shoulder from behind, startling him out of his thoughts. He was generally alone among the workers, having no one to talk to since he was once rich and didn't know the poor very well. Even during his time on the streets he never really socialized; he was too busy worrying whether he would live to see the next day.

He turned to glance back at Alfred, biting back an exasperated sigh. He did this every morning. Arthur was surprised it still startled him anymore. However, he was rather absorbed in his own thoughts, as he was wont to do...

"Something wrong, Artie?" He whispered jokingly, eyes flashing with faint amusement as he took in Arthur's expression.

Arthur only scowled in response, furrowing his impressive eyebrows. "You really ought to stop doing that. If Donovan sees us then we'll both wind up at the whipping post or some other equally as terrible punishment."

Alfred only grinned in response. "No worries, we wouldn't get caught. I promise." He clapped him on the shoulder just before a few staff members walked by, eying them critically before moving on down the row, making sure everyone was present and heading to the dining area for breakfast.

Arthur could only sigh at that. He hadn't regretted introducing himself to Alfred on that day, not in the least, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into at the time. Alfred was the sort who loved socializing and seemed to especially love bothering Arthur. It flat out amused him, if that stupid grin on his face was any indication. Though Alfred did get on his nerves more often than not, Arthur couldn't deny he was grateful for the company. Most of the other male workers there were a good deal older than him and already had friends of their own to talk with. Plus, Arthur knew full well he wasn't the most social of people and didn't exactly make good company. What he really wondered, though, was exactly why Alfred wanted to talk to him at all. Arthur was boring and stuffy and not very nice while Alfred was sociable, encouraging, and easy to talk to. They were quite literally polar opposites.

"Tell that to Donovan's whip." Arthur muttered after the man had passed by, his obsidian eyes glinting in the dim lighting. Of course, the master wasn't without his favorite toy; it was coiled at his hip and he kept a hand on it at all times.

Alfred smirked. "I'll be sure to next time I get whipped."

Arthur groaned inwardly. "Honestly, don't say things like that. With winter coming up sore and bleeding is the _last_ thing you'll want to be. It would be stupid of you to tease Donovan in any way and you know it." Or so he said, but he sincerely just didn't want to see Alfred hurt. He'd seen others come back from Donovan's punishment, and it wasn't pretty. They usually wound up in beds for a while and the sound of Donovan's whip cracking would forever terrify them. Arthur didn't know what their cruel master did to the 'misbehaving' workers, but whatever it was, it didn't only leave physical scars.

As they lined up for their food, Alfred spoke up again, shaking his head slowly. "Donovan doesn't scare me. He shouldn't scare anyone. He's just another official with a whip, and without it he's just about as cowardly as anyone else."

Arthur shot a furtive glance around the room as he was served gruel - again - before hissing back at Alfred in response. "That's not the point. It's likely Donovan won't ever lose his whip, you idiotic prat, so I suggest you stop trash-talking him in an area as public as this one."

The other only shook his head again, a small smile curling at his lips as he took his food, not making a face at the sickly goop as it was served to him. "Like I said, I'm not afraid of him and you shouldn't be either, Artie."

Arthur only groaned and shook his head as they sat, careful to avoid chafing their bottoms against the rough wooden benches. He couldn't figure out whether the fool was brave or idiotic. It was hard to tell most of the time, though Arthur was leaning toward the latter.

Alfred was surprisingly silent as they ate; the only sound present was the faint clink of his spoon against his bowl as he scooped the gruel. His silence made Arthur a bit wary, fearing he was planning something that would undoubtedly be completely stupid and land one or the both of them in heaps of trouble.

Even as they finished eating and headed to the work area, Alfred was still silent, a pondering look on his face. This further reinforced Arthur's feeling that he was planning something. But what could it be? In all the short time he'd known Alfred, he had never once remained quiet for such a long period by now. The silence coming from his normally loud friend made him a little nervous, to say the least.

It wasn't until they were well into their working hours that he finally spoke up.

"Say, Arthur." he said, his tone thoughtful. His eyes hadn't moved from his work but his eyebrows were furrowed as if he were still thinking about something.

"Er, yes?" Arthur paused briefly before resuming work just before Donovan passed by, pitch colored eyes observing them haughtily before moving on, fingers toying with the hilt of his whip.

Alfred exhaled heavily before speaking, his tone still thoughtful. "What do you think about...well, this?" He gestured vaguely around the room with the hand that held his hammer before going back to work, his eyes still not focused on Arthur.

Arthur allowed his gaze to flicker briefly to Alfred before focusing back on the table. He frowned slightly. "That's quite a vague question, Alfred."

Alfred shook his head slowly, eyelids lowering slightly. "I guess it is. But I guess what I mean is...what do you think of the workhouse as a whole?" His eyes watched for Arthur's reaction out of the corners of his eyes.

He could only blink at the question, pausing briefly in his work once again. "What do I think about them? I guess they're...nice." He replied flatly. He didn't think the workhouses were nice in the least, of course. Well, he didn't really know how other workhouses were, but this one was anything but 'nice'. It was built on lies and greed.

At his reply, Alfred only snorted. "Nice, right. What do you really think?"

Arthur let out a shaky breath as he thought about his true answer for a moment. "It is quite literally something like a pit of Hell before a patch of hopeful meadow; everyone sees it, everyone knows it's there, but no one knows what it's really like or even cares to look into it because why does it matter? It's just a pit. However those who want to reach the meadow slip into the pit without even realizing what they've gotten themselves into. And the climb out is not very simple. And somehow, when they do climb out, hoping for the meadow, it turns out it was all just an illusion in the distance."

Alfred whistled lowly. "That's deep. You're pretty good with words."

Arthur laughed coolly at that. "Oh yes, like it does me much good in here."

The other smiled slightly and shook his head. "Hah, well, at least I got to hear it. You should come up with poetry or something, I have no doubt you'd be good at it."

His ears pinked slightly at Alfred's praise. "O-oh? Ahaha, w-well it's like I...I mean it's not as if I ever would have c-considered doing something like that anyway, I'm not all that good at all, haha..." Arthur realized he sounded completely idiotic and cut off his rambling.

Alfred only chuckled faintly and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. "Don't demean yourself; I'm sure if it's you, you can do it."

Arthur felt something strangely warm in his chest surface at the words (which was odd considering that it was anything but warm in here) and found them repeating themselves in his head as he worked. _If it's you, if it's you..._

* * *

The five hours or so of working had finally passed, and Arthur found himself and Alfred heading off for supper, both somewhat tired already. However, neither of them had time for being a little worn out so they made themselves stick it out, knowing there was no room for weariness here.

Arthur was more or less silent as he ate, only half listening to Alfred's incessant chatter. He talked far too much for his own good sometimes.

"Hey Arthur, are you listening?"

"Hm?" Arthur jerked out of his thoughtful state, turning to Alfred. "What is it?"

Alfred only laughed and shook his head. "Nevermind. You seem kinda out of it."

"Hm, I suppose I was just...pondering things. I lose myself in my thoughts sometimes...memories...things that make me feel older than I am." He sighed.

Alfred seemed amused by that. "Maybe that's because you _are_ an old man?"

At this, Arthur sputtered indignantly. "Why, I - ! I am most certainly not an old man, I'll have you know! I'm barely older than twenty!"

He should have known just to pass it off as another piece of Alfred's stupidity, because as soon as Alfred saw his reaction, Arthur knew he wouldn't stop bothering him about it. He groaned inwardly Damn.

"Aha, really? How much is 'barely' to you? Thirty years? Fifty years?"

Arthur sputtered again, dropping his spoon lightly back into his bowl before turning to Alfred, eyes alight. "Now you see here - "

But before Arthur could finish, Donovan entered the hall, causing a hush to fall across the room as the workers slowly noticed who was now present. This was most certainly not a good sign; Donovan almost never appeared at their mealtimes unless there was an announcement or if he wanted to take someone away for whatever reason.

His books clicked on the floor as he walked, echoing off the walls. Arthur swallowed heavily; he seemed to be amused by something, judging from the small, sneering smile upon his face. A happy Donovan was generally in a good mood only if it meant something bad for them or someone among them.

Donovan proceeded down the rows of tables, his eyes sweeping the room. He was definitely looking for someone. But who? The workers remained tight-lipped and silent, and some had visibly paled. When he stopped by their table and began to walk down their side, Arthur could have sworn his heart was in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He felt as though the supper he'd just eaten was about to come right back up.

He stopped just behind the two of them, appraising the backs of their heads with calculating eyes.

"You. You, come with me." He'd gestured to Alfred who's eyes widened in shock before he struggled to compose himself.

"Yes, sir?" Alfred asked lightly, turning to face him and keeping his face carefully blank. His hands were clenched into faintly trembling fists.

"You heard me, did you not? Come, rise and follow me. At once."

Alfred rose slowly, eyes flicking over to meet Arthur's stunned ones. He gazed for a moment as if trying to convey something before turning his head and wordlessly following Donovan out of the hall. It wasn't until several moments after the doors had slammed shut that the usual talk that filled the hall started up again, somehow sounding just a bit more nervous and wary than they had before Donovan's appearance.

Arthur scooted his tray away, burying his face in his arms. What had happened? Why Alfred? What could he have done? Arthur had been with him nearly all day, there was no way anything could have happened that would required Donovan to take him away. He wracked his brains but came up with nothing. What was it? What?

He glanced up briefly at the food that lay before him, feeling more nauseous than hungry. He could only pray now that Alfred came out of whatever Donovan was planning to do to him without too many scars.

And not only the physical kind; the emotional kind could sometimes be a thousand times worse and never heal. Arthur knew Alfred had a strong spirit and wasn't the sort to become cynical because something happened to him, but Arthur worried nonetheless.

Alfred was his only friend here and there was no denying Arthur cared for him much more than he probably should have. Much more than he really needed to, but at the same time, he wanted to need Alfred. And that was just far too dangerous, so he squelched such a thought before it had time to sink in properly.

He could only hope with all his soul that Alfred's suffering would somehow not be too terrible. If there was a God, Arthur would have gotten to his knees and prayed until all the breath left his lungs if he could, but there was nothing he could do but wait and hope. And hope was not something Arthur was very good with.

* * *

Alfred never returned for work, nor did he return for dinnertime.

As he sat by himself, merely picking at his food, Arthur was positively beside himself with worry. Alfred had been gone for so long that he didn't know what to think anymore. What if Donovan had killed him and made it look like an accident? He had no doubt the greasy bastard could do it. Anything was possible if one had money, which he was sure Donovan had more than enough of from running the workhouse. He frowned in disgust. And to think, he'd been no different...

No, no. He _had_ been different. He only wished he had been even more different from someone like Donovan. The rich were all more similar than any of them would ever admit.

Dinner passed uneventfully and they were sent back to their rooms, the workers more than ready to sleep after such a day.

Arthur, however, was unsurprised that he couldn't sleep and tossed and turned, wishing that he could. Perhaps then he would stop worrying about Alfred. Just as he closed his eyes, ready to give sleeping another try, he heard footsteps in the hall, causing his eyes to snap open. He was already so high strung after today that he thought any more surprises would make him snap.

He sat up slowly, glancing around at his room mates. They were all soundly asleep, taking advantage of what time they _did_ have to rest.

Careful to be quiet, Arthur slowly turned and slid out of bed, hissing slightly as his feet touched the icy floor. He padded quietly to the door and slipped out into the hall, squinting into the darkness. There were no staffers wandering the halls; they tended to stop their watch an hour or so after bedtime.

However, there was _someone_ just down the hall there, leaning against a wall.

Arthur swallowed and pressed on. It couldn't be a staff member, right? He was sure to get in some kind of trouble if it was. As he approached, however, he realized that it was no staffer at all - it was Alfred.

Eyes widening, he dashed forward to meet him, whispering his name. "Are you alright?" He reached out hesitantly to put his hands on the other's shoulders; however, Alfred hissed in response, causing Arthur to withdraw his touch immediately.

"Arthur," He whispered hoarsely, "it's you..."

"Y-yes it's me, you bloody fool, what happened - ?" he was cut off as Alfred leaned forward, using Arthur was a support.

"Good thing it's you." He snorted lightly at that. "That's all."

Arthur frowned. "Afred, what happened to you?" He kept his arms stiffly at his sides, not wanting to touch Alfred in case he touched somewhere that would only hurt him.

He could feel the other shaking his head against him. "...Tell you tomorrow. Could you...could you help me back to my bed...?"

Arthur murmured his consent as he allowed Alfred to lean against him, guiding Alfred to where his room was. Careful not to awaken Alfred's room mates, he slipped in, guiding Alfred to his bed and anxiously helping him lie down, watching as the other winced and lay on his stomach instead of his back.

"Thanks..." He breathed, drifting off into sleep immediately after.

Even after he was sure he was asleep, Arthur stood there for a moment, hesitantly touching his hair. What happened to him? He couldn't know and only hoped that Alfred would tell him the whole story. But Arthur was no fool; he had a fairly good idea as to what had happened to him.

He left wordlessly for his own room shortly after, not falling asleep for some time. When he did, however, it was restless and he found himself waking up constantly until it was nearly time to rise.

* * *

Today was Sunday. Therefore it was safe to assume that yesterday had been Saturday, or so Arthur figured. Thank the Lord for Sundays.

When they awoke, the first thing the workers did was have a prayer session before breakfast. As he stood in line among the others, Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder, making him jump slightly as he turned, figuring he already knew who it was.

His mouth fell open. Oh it was Alfred alright, but he looked...

Well, he looked _miserable_. 'Miserable' and 'Alfred' were two words that should never be used together, not ever.

"Alfred?" Arthur whispered in surprise, looking him over.

He had huge bags under his eyes and a rather stark cut on his cheek, but other than that he was mostly normal. The way he held himself was a bit strange...he seemed to hobble slightly and walk while slightly hunched over.

He gave a tired smile. "That's me."

"You...what in the name of..."

"Later, Artie."

"But - "

"Later." He said shortly, shooting Arthur a look that made him fall silent and nod in agreement. Satisfied, Alfred gave him another tired smile and didn't say another word.

As much as Alfred's constant talking could be annoying, strangely enough, Arthur almost wished he would just start rambling again. Seeing Alfred like this was simply too strange to put into words. It pained him to see.

With a resigned sigh, he faced forward again and headed off to their prayer sessions with a heavy heart and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing.

Try as he might, his mind continued to stray until he gave up praying altogether, letting his thoughts drift to Alfred instead.

What exactly had happened to Alfred? That was the big question. Since it was Donovan, it was likely his whip; of that, Arthur had no doubt. However, his suspicions that Donovan inflicted more than physical wounds was almost undeniable now. A simple whipping wouldn't make Alfred so subdued; chances are if it was just that he would brag about it until Arthur's ears would bleed.

Arthur barely even noticed when the prayers had ended until Alfred was tugging on his sleeve, causing him to rise with a start and follow everyone out into the dining hall. Since today was Sunday, there would be no work after breakfast and the rest of the day would be for prayers and rest. Thank goodness for Sundays, really.

He almost immediately turned to Alfred, his stare demanding. Alfred was silent for a moment before turning to meet Arthur's gaze with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't relent. And he was damn right. Arthur wouldn't stop pestering him about it until he knew the whole story.

"Look, Artie...I don't really want to tell you but you're obviously not giving me a choice. I think you have a pretty good idea of what happened, so I don't know why you're bothering to ask. If I seem out of character it's because I'm tired, and that's all."

"If you were just tired you wouldn't act like this." Arthur said lowly.

"What?"

"I said, being tired doesn't change a person's character to this extent and you know it. What happened to you, Alfred? What did Donovan do?" He gaze burned into Alfred's refusing to give up.

"I don't understand why you want to know so badly." He said hollowly.

"You want to know why? I care about you, you imbecile." He snapped. "Stop evading the subject and just tell me. Do you have any idea how worried about you I was?" Realizing then what he had just said, he tried to backpedal. "I, ah, when I say I 'care' about you, I mean...and I wasn't _that_ worried, you see, I was just...that is, well, I was only - "

Alfred snorted at the typical response. "Fine, I get it. Stop babbling, I'll tell you."

Arthur blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, since you 'care' about me, or rather, you _don't _care, right?" He asked teasingly. He even smiled, though it was still a very tired smile.

Arthur's jaw fell open a little and he flushed faintly. "I-I thought I made it q-quite clear that I wasn't - I mean, I was, but I didn't - "

Alfred held up a hand with a faint chuckle. "I got it, Artie. Just finish eating and I'll talk to you about this elsewhere."

Frowning and still flushing faintly, Arthur pushed his embarrassment aside and focused on thinking about what Alfred would soon tell him. This made him eat more quickly than he usually would have, and he nearly jumped up when Alfred stood, following him out of the dining hall and back to their rooms.

Alfred headed into his own room, of course, and Arthur followed, if only a bit hesitantly. He was especially hesitant when Alfred had him sit on his bed next to him. There was no denying that he found Alfred attractive, and sitting next to him on his bed like this was downright uncomfortable. But again, Arthur pushed aside his momentary emotions and steeled himself before turning to face Alfred, waiting patiently for him to start telling.

"Well, it happened something like this," He said, and began speaking.

_Alfred had never been so unnerved in his entire life. The look on Donovan's face was downright creepy and he knew he was about to find out exactly why he was so cheery. _

_Donovan led him down a series of halls, the sound of his boots hitting the floor echoing off the walls and making the sounds louder than they really were. The halls from here on were dimly lit, and Alfred could only wonder vaguely at where they were going. _

_"Do you know what you're in for, boy?" Donovan asked after a moment, glancing back at Alfred._

_"Er, um...no, sir."_

_"Really?" He sounded amused by that fact. "No idea in the least?"_

_"No, sir." Alfred repeated, frowning now. This was probably going to turn out badly for him._

_The rest of the walk was silent until they reached a door that Donovan had to unlock with a key, ushering Alfred in first and closing and locking the door behind the both of them. The clicking of the lock was a dreadfully ominous sound._

_"Say, boy. What do you call a person who disgraces the name of someone who should be considered superior?"_

_"I...I don't know, sir." _

_"You don't know much, do you boy." Donovan's voice was amused as he unhooked his whip from his belt, stroking the coils tenderly. "No matter. I shall educate you shortly."_

_He then shifted his gaze back to Alfred, a small smile upon his thin lips. "To the post. At once."_

_It was then Alfred noticed the post. It was just a little wooden thing, worn and rough and covered with shadowy splotches that Alfred was sure were bloodstains._

_Reluctantly, he did as Donovan asked, moving to stand in front of it. it barely reached his chest._

_"On your knees, boy." He said slowly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Alfred did as he was asked just as Donovan came around and tugged on the shirt of his uniform. "Off with this, boy. That is, unless you wish to destroy one of the few pieces of clothing you own."_

_Swallowing heavily, Alfred did as he was asked and tossed his uniform shirt to the side. Donovan nodded in approval before walking around the post and grabbing Alfred's wrists, fixing them in the manacles that dangled there._

_"So let's talk first. You know what will happen to you here, but you don't know why, is that fair to say?" He asked, still sounding amused as if he knew something that Alfred didn't and really wanted to share._

_"Yes, sir. That is true."_

_"Ah, indeed, indeed." He paused for a moment, stroking his beard and pacing. "I shall inform you then, Mr...ah, Mr. Jones, was it? No matter. Do you recall what happened yesterday?"_

_Alfred frowned, wondering where he was going with this. "There was work yesterday, sir..."_

_"As there is every day spare Sunday." Donovan cut him off impatiently. "Do you not recall saying a particular something? Perhaps something relating to my wife?"_

_"I, er..." Alfred frowned. He always said things about them, he couldn't remember one in particular. He wasn't quite foolish enough to say such a thing aloud, however._

_"You called my wife a harlot." He said calmly, unfurling his whip from the coil. The sound of it hitting the floor made Alfred twitch slightly._

_"Did I, sir?" Alfred asked, keeping his voice calm though his heart was thumping crazily._

_"Yes, you did. Mind you, I do not take kindly to that sort of talk about my darling wife."_

_"I...if I said anything, then I apologize, sir." The words tasted terrible on his tongue; if he ever said anything about him or his wife, it was no more than what they deserved._

_"Apologies only get you so far, my boy. And unluckily for you, a simple apology most certainly is not enough to ease your offense."_

_Alfred was silent, staring at the wood post and bracing himself for what was to come._

_"You know, I was wondering something." Donovan walked forward a few steps, his whip dragging alongside him before he paused. "You have a friend here, do you not? What was his name...Mr. Kirkland?"_

_He swallowed at this. Why was he bringing up Arthur? _

_"You seem awfully close. Is there a chance that you are closer than friends?" He asked in an offhanded matter, though the calm sounded like it was forced._

_"We are nothing more than friends, sir." Alfred replied honestly. What did his friendship with Arthur have anything to do with calling Patsy Donovan a harlot? His mind whirled, but he came up with nothing that could possibly relate the two. Arthur never said a word aloud about the couple since he was smart and knew how to avoid trouble. Alfred, apparently, did not._

_"Is that so? I don't believe it. I think you, Jones, are a sodomite." _

_Alfred nearly choked on his saliva at the word. Him, a sodomite? That couldn't be, it certainly couldn't be. It wasn't true, he knew it wasn't. Why would Donovan even imply such a thing?_

_"Since you are clearly a sodomite, then I have no choice but to punish you in the Lord's name, correct? Why don't you even think about lewd things while I whip you, hm? Maybe your mind can be cleansed of such filthy thoughts."_

_Donovan walked up behind him, trailing the tip of the whip down his back and causing Alfred to shiver. He wanted him to think about...what? His thoughts were out of control, he couldn't think straight. He could only wonder what, why, how could he be accused of something like that?_

_"Liking the same gender is a grave sin according to the bible. You will fall deeply into Hell, I'm sure, as will your friend. However, though I find you to be a repulsive example of a man, Jones, I rather like your friend Kirkland. Taint him any further and you will find that your punishment now will be far worse."_

_It was then the whipping begun._

_The tip bit into his back, leaving stinging in its wake. The man his as hard as he can right off. Of course, Donovan was that sort of man._

_He continued to whip, but Alfred refused to wince until it really bit in, causing him to cry out. The leather tip had cut more deeply into his skin than he would have imagined and he felt a faint trickle of warm blood slide down his back and fall to the floor. He heard Donovan pause in order to chuckle before he continued with what he was doing, the whip cutting just a little deeper each time._

_Though he made sure to hit him mostly everywhere, Donovan seemed to like hitting the same wounds, making sure they became deeper and deeper and bled quite nicely. When Donovan stopped, Alfred's entire back felt like it was on fire, but he still refused to cry out. _

_"Brave one, aren't you?" Donovan laughed and Alfred heard as the whip was tossed aside. "Strong men like you are admirable, Jones, but foolish as well." He heard Donovan's footsteps get closer before he saw Donovan standing before him, holding in his hands a simple carving knife._

_"I haven't sharpened this knife in some time, so I think it will do quite nicely. I'm sure you think so as well, boy?" _

_Alfred didn't have the energy to respond. He only stared at that blade wearily, causing Donovan to laugh. "I suppose I shall take that as a silent agreement. You see, I thought it might be nice if I were to leave you more than some scars as a reminder. I get the feeling you wouldn't learn your lesson at all if I did something like that. So what if I were to give you a marking? Perhaps if I cut it into you with this knife? How would you like that, Jones?" His smile was most definitely a sneer._

_He walked around Alfred for a moment, twirling the knife between his fingers, a thoughtful look on his face until he finally stopped. "Turn around, Jones."_

_Alfred turned his head warily, eyes meeting Donovan's dark and dangerous ones for just a moment. "I think here will do nicely." He tapped the left side of Alfred's stomach, seeming pleased as he crouched down, knife point resting on his skin before he began to cut._

_He did it slowly, digging in deep and dragging it down bit by bit. "My, blunt knives truly are so difficult to cut with." He turned the knife a bit, causing Alfred to bite his lip to keep from crying out in surprise. That hurt. This damn knife hurt. Amused, Donovan carried on, dragging the tip down to his hip bone, leaving a jagged and bleeding line in its place. _

_"Lovely, isn't it?" He chuckled, amused as he lifted the knife and cut another line, vertically across and near the top of the first line. Alfred felt every moment of it and tried his absolute hardest not to flinch, not to struggled, not to cry out or even give the slightest moan of pain. Finally, Donovan had finished, and pulled the knife away to examine his handiwork. Alfred felt the fresh blood from this cut leak and actually stain the side of his trousers this time._

_"I think this shall do for today." He said, reaching over to pat Alfred's cheek before smirking sadistically and swiftly adding a cut to Alfred's cheek, causing him to gasp. Donovan finally pulled away with a satisfied smile, undoing the manacles and tossing Alfred's shirt as him as if it were a filthy piece of garbage. _

_"Cover up and go to bed. I expect you'll be tired." Donovan smiled coldly before grabbing the whip and knife before leaving the room, leaving the door open behind him._

_Only once he was gone did Alfred let himself truly feel the pain, curling in on himself and shaking terribly._

The silence in the room now was tangible, and Alfred was gazing at the floor. "...After that I put my shirt back on and left. My side stopped bleeding after a while, luckily, but I was exhausted. I barely made it to the barracks, and I was sure I wasn't being very quiet while walking, but then you found me, so...that's all." He kept his gaze fixedly on the floor.

Arthur was shocked into silence. He was...he was accusing Alfred of being a sodomite? _I'm the damn sodomite, not him._

"Alfred..."

He didn't look up. Arthur took a deep breath.

"Can...can I see it?" His voice trembled as he asked, and his question was breathy and quiet, almost as if he didn't really want to ask and felt embarrassed about asking it.

Alfred looked up at him, confusion evident in his eyes. He swallowed several times before speaking. "Why?"

Arthur shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. "I...It's just...this is partly my fault. I want to see...that's all." He felt his cheeks coloring faintly in humiliation. Of course Alfred wouldn't want to show him, not after being accused of being a bloody sodomite. That was quite the sin to be accused of.

"Fine."

Arthur blinked, looking up at Alfred in surprise. "Fine?"

"Fine." He repeated, and began to slowly, carefully lift the shirt from himself, letting it fall to the bed beside him. Arthur could only look in in horror.

Alfred's entire back was covered in bloody welts. They looked as if they had been cleaned though, so it was safe to assume he had stopped to have them treated at some point. However, this fact did not make the sight any less horrifying. He had a number of littler welts, and ones that had cut a little into the skin, but some looked as if they had been gouged into his flesh by a rusty nail. They were jagged, dark, and deep and Arthur didn't want to look at those for too long.

Then was his side.

Right there, reaching from the bottom of his ribcage to his hip was a crudely cut cross, the deepness of the cuts quite evident. With shaking fingers, he reached to grab Alfred's arm, holding on lightly. Alfred frowned at this, confused.

"Arthur?"

Arthur jumped at the sound of his name. He had lost himself for a moment. He steadied his breath before rising from the bed and moving to stand before Alfred. "When did you get those treated?"

"Ah, I guess I forgot to mention it. It was last night before I managed my way back here. It was a bit of an exhausting trip and I was lucky that there was still someone there to do something about it...Arthur, what's wrong?"

He wasn't sure what kind of expression was on his face. He normally didn't allow whatever kind of expression this was to even surface, but there it was. He couldn't take his eyes off Alfred's bewildered ones.

"Hey, look...it's not your fault. I don't blame you. Donovan's just making up reasons to punish me. I get the feeling he really dislikes me so I'm sure he was just looking for an excuse to do that for a while now. And I guess he happened to overhear something I said about his wife - which I'm not even sure is true, anyway - and figured that would be his reason."

"Th-that's not...oh, you bloody fool." Was all Arthur could even make himself say before he reached out and pulled Alfred to him, gently holding his head against his chest. It had been something of an instinctive move, and though Alfred wasn't visibly bothered by it, he felt like he had to do it after hearing about his ordeal.

Alfred tensed beneath his hold, probably in shock, but slowly, slowly brought his arms up to wrap loosely around Arthur's middle, making his breath catch in his throat.

His arms were warm, Arthur noticed vaguely. Alfred was warm. He smelled of blood and sweat and something else that was probably particular to Alfred.

It was probably a foolish move, really. Was he losing his mind? But at that moment, Arthur found he didn't care, that he couldn't care, not when Alfred was so close and in his arms. Not when he felt his hair tickling his neck and his breath against his shirt.

Who was he kidding? He had certainly wanted to be this close to someone for a long time. Sodomy be damned, none of that mattered now and none of it would ever matter to him.

As he listened to the sound of Alfred's breathing, he felt that all was right, if only for the moment.

* * *

-falls to the ground-

This is the longest chapter I have written in my life and if you think I'm lying...well, I'm not. I don't have too much to say about this chapter other than the fact that it was a bitch to write and I was doing nothing but worrying about making them out of character and stuff. I think I'm so bad at keeping characters like them in character, argh! But I don't know how to change it...sorry.

So some stuff about the master and matron have been revealed. More on the matron next chapter, probably. And btw, the Donovan's aint ugly or anything. It might sound that way, but the point is they're a handsome couple. They _look_ beautiful and nice and stuff but the point was that their eyes hold their true nature. I feel like I didn't make it clear or anything.

Oh, and one more thing. I have another USxUK story, it's called The Golden Butterfly and I'd love you to pieces if you would be so kind as to check it out sometime.

Well, that's all. My hands are tired from way too much typing, ugh.

I hope you'll review! Feedback is love.


	3. At the Heart of the Problem

Once again, you all are very lovely people. But you know, I'm not sure how often I'll make my updates. I tend to get lazy and stray from any personal schedule I may set for myself, but I suppose it all depends on how I feel about the chapter I'm writing and how inspired I feel about writing in general. So I won't give you any sort of schedule, it will just have to be a surprise since I'm not even sure, myself...ahaha. Sorry if this felt like a long wait, I truly was stumped when it came to writing this. Nothing seemed right and I had to write and rewrite this a few times and I still can't say I'm entirely satisfied with it.

But really, I find this story a little more difficult to write since it doesn't have much scenery change and not a fast-moving plot at all. I guess I'll just see where my muse takes me, and I hope you'll all enjoy the ride. XD

So on with the chapter~

* * *

**III.**

_At the Heart of the Problem_

* * *

It had been exactly one week since Alfred's whipping.

No, perhaps it wasn't quite right to call it just a 'whipping'; in Arthur's opinion, it had meant something so much more. Donovan had accused Alfred of liking men, and on what grounds? Arthur was fairly sure that Alfred had never showed any affection to anyone in particular, much less Arthur himself. That was just absurd. As nice as that might be...no, no, no. He did not just think of wanting Alfred to be affectionate with him. Oh goodness no. _No. ...Definitely_ no.

He sighed to himself as he dressed for another morning of work, tugging at the collar that exposed far too much of his neck. It was a bit troublesome, especially since his single little welt from the time he was struck with the whip was shown if one were to look at his neck from the right angle. And having it exposed at all only made him feel even more terrible about what had happened to Alfred. Then again, Alfred likely hadn't noticed it and hopefully never would; he dreaded having to explain that to his friend.

Before he knew it he was filing out into the hall with the others for more working. He scanned the group for Alfred, frowning when he couldn't spot him. Normally Alfred would be here already, just waiting for an opportunity to pester him. Since the whipping, he had been a bit more subdued and his usual cheeriness seemed lacking, almost forced. He hated seeing him like that to the point that he almost missed Alfred's nonsensical chatter and his knack for bothering him.

Sometimes, when he thought Arthur wasn't looking, Alfred would have a distant look on his face...almost as if he were thinking about something. Whenever Arthur would catch him like this, he would simply smile and brush it off, but there was always something forced in his smile and his usual jibes felt half-hearted.

Arthur only sighed, waiting to head out to breakfast until he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned, nearly sighing in relief as he saw Alfred. He did not, however, and kept up his usual indifferent expression and snippy attitude.

"Ah, Alfred. How wonderful of you to show up." He said a bit snidely, turning his worry into sarcasm. _I thought you would never come._

Alfred rolled his eyes at that. "Great to see you too, Artie." He yawned after this, stretching a little before wincing slightly as he pulled at his still healing wounds, laughing awkwardly as he saw that Arthur's eyes were still fixed on him.

He could only sigh at this. He wanted to ask Alfred what he was thinking, he really did, but he was afraid to know the answer. They had already known each other for quite a decent amount of time and now he was getting scared and balking at the mere _thought_ of asking Alfred anything personal. Now that he thought about it, what exactly _did_ he know about Alfred?

The answer was not much, not much at all. And the more he thought about it, the more Arthur's stomach tied itself into knots.

He watched the other out of the corners of his eyes, not willing in the least to let him out of his sight. If he did, who knew what could happen. He feared that Alfred was terribly unstable right now and he was perhaps overly worried for his state of mind but couldn't help it no matter how hard he tried.

"Ready for another day of work, Artie?" Alfred was beaming but it seemed so dull and false when compared with his usual smile.

"Ready as I always am, Alfred." He replied crisply, keeping up his usual attitude as well to hide his steadily increasing worry. They were such good friends, yet they were both acting as if they were on stage in some sort of play? How absurd! Friends oughtn't act as such! But there they were, both wearing masks, and Arthur hated it deeply.

Alfred chuckled in response. "Well, I'm certain you noticed that tomorrow is a Sunday and we have no work on Sunday. I don't know about you, but I, for one, am glad to get a day of rest finally."

Arthur only hummed in response, his mind elsewhere. Elsewhere being on things like Alfred's numerous wounds and their inflicter.

"Well, let's get going." Alfred nudged Arthur lightly who dragged himself from his miserable thoughts to begin heading off to the dining hall for breakfast. He wasn't hungry in the least, but forced himself to get the usual disgusting 'food' they were always served and sat himself next to Alfred, shifting uncomfortably on the rough bench and picking morosely at his glop. If Alfred noticed his foul mood, he certainly didn't comment; he was chatting away as cheerfully as ever and seemed completely content...but Arthur knew better. Arthur knew he was still thinking about his experience, as much as he tried to hide it.

As he listened to Alfred talk, pretending to listen and occasionally making sounds of agreement or nodding his head, Arthur could tell just by looking in Alfred's eyes that he'd changed.

Oh it was hardly a change; perhaps it was better to say it was a shift in perspective. A dose of reality. Whichever was more fitting.

Either way, Arthur had been rather talented at cloaking his own emotions for a while now, so he made sure Alfred was completely oblivious to his worry.

Once they had finished eating and disposed of their bowls, (in Arthur's case, he disposed of quite a bit of his food and did so carefully so Alfred wouldn't notice) they headed to the workplace. Today they would be breaking stones, which was, in all sincerity, rather backbreaking work. It was likely one of Arthur's least favorite things next to prayer sessions led by Patsy Donovan, which in contrast to the stone breaking, were rather common.

Again, Arthur was somewhat worried that if Alfred were to do such strenuous work it would reopen his barely-healed wounds, but Alfred had already been working constantly for the past week or so without any complications. So Arthur said nothing, but did throw the occasional worried glance at Alfred whenever he stumbled slightly from raising his hammer too high.

They worked in a rather uncomfortable silence. Or rather, uncomfortable for Arthur. Alfred didn't seem to mind at all.

Donovan made his usual rounds, cracking his whip at a few workers and menacing them as he usually did.

But what _was_ unusual was when Donovan came by and fixed Arthur with a look that made him highly uncomfortable. His dark eyes were piercing, calculating, thoughtful. Once the man walked away and resumed checking up on the workers, Arthur sighed heavily in relief. There was something about that stare that unnerved him, but he couldn't put a finger on precisely why.

When he glanced over at Alfred, however, he noticed he paused in his work and was scowling at the retreating figure of Donovan. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek at this just as Alfred turned and caught him staring. Flushing faintly, he turned back to his work with renewed vigor as Arthur stared silently at him for a moment longer before doing the same.

Well, he'd be damned if that wasn't a bit strange.

* * *

Feeling sore and rather exhausted, Arthur trudged after all the other workers, half dragging his feet as he did so. At some point after dinner, Arthur had separated from Alfred and hadn't seen him since they'd finished eating. He was wondering where he had gone, but was too tired to do much more than worry about it.

He reached his room and almost immediately began to change, unbuttoning his uniform a few buttons before stretching and reaching for his nightclothes...

...until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur sucked in a loud breath and whirled around, eyes wide.

"Arthur, calm down, it's me. Alfred." He put both hands on Arthur's shoulders, who slowly began to relax under the familiar touch.

Alfred. It was just Alfred. But what in the name of God gave him the right to sneak up behind him like that and scare him half to death?

"What, pray tell, was that for?" Arthur hissed, dropping his nightclothes on the bed and pulling away from Alfred so he could go sit on it.

Alfred sighed at this, running a hand through his hair, seeming exasperated. This just served to annoy Arthur more. "Calm yourself, Artie. There's no need for panic."

"No need for...? What else should I expect from someone sneaking up on me from behind in the middle of the night like this!" He scowled, folding his arms across his chest. "I do hope you have a very good reason for scaring the wits out of me."

Alfred fell silent for a moment, his expression turning even more solemn, if that was even possible. After a moment, he moved to sit next to Arthur on the bed, staring out at the hall without really seeing it.

Arthur fidgeted, a little unnerved. Something was up. If something wasn't wrong then Alfred wouldn't be snooping about and feel the need to sneak up on him when he was totally unsuspecting.

"It's...Donovan." He said finally, his hands curling into fists as he spoke, his eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze remained fixed on the hall, but something flickered in his eyes now.

"Alright...Donovan. What about Donovan?" Arthur did his very best to sound nonchalant and calm but inside he was trembling. Alfred was scaring him right now.

"It's just..." Alfred heaved a sigh, shaking his head and scowling at the floor. "Lately he's been acting differently. I can't really...explain it but he's been...staring at you. Intently." Now Alfred looked at Arthur, their gazes meeting. Arthur swallowed nervously.

"I have noticed, actually. I didn't feel it was anything to be worried about."

At this Alfred snorted. "You think it's nothing? Right. Nothing. He's staring at you like - "

He cut himself off, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"Like what, Alfred?" Arthur asked, reaching up to gently grip his shoulder when he remained silent. "What?"

Alfred opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to meet Arthur's again. "Like he's...interested in you or something. You know." He frowned to himself.

Arthur could only blink at that. "Interested? How do you mean?"

"As in...romantically, o-or uh...lustfully." He said the last part so quietly Arthur wasn't sure he heard him right. But once the words sunk in he flushed slightly.

"I, well...you don't know that." He replied lamely, fiddling with his fingers, eyes glued to his lap now.

"You know..." Alfred sighed heavily and stood. "Just forget it. I'll see you tomorrow."

And he strode briskly out of the room without a backward glance or another word.

Arthur's eyes remained fixed to the hall for several moments after Alfred left. He drew his knees up to his chest, glancing over at his nightclothes before reaching for them so he could change.

As he changed he wondered. Surely there was no way Alfred suspected anything about Arthur himself. No, the boy was a little dense. But clearly there was something that happened when he was with Donovan that...made him see the man in a different light. Arthur wasn't sure what that could be, but the mere idea of Donovan being 'interested' in a poor, dirty workhouse laborer like himself was absurd! Donovan was married, for one thing. The man had a stunning wife and the two always seemed to share a close bond. (Close as two snakes can be, he mused dryly.)

So Alfred had to be incorrect. That was the only viable conclusion. His friend was...confused by something he had seen or heard and because of his traumatic experience, he was muddling up the facts and making something out of things that weren't.

Or at least that was what Arthur told himself as he tossed and turned about restlessly before he finally fell into a rather uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

Arthur awoke the next morning feeling horribly groggy and not at all prepared to face the day. He grumbled to himself and rubbed his eyes as he awoke, staring blearily at his surroundings.

He hadn't slept well at all last night; his mind was so utterly bogged down with thoughts that it was a wonder he'd managed to get even a few minutes worth of rest. He yawned hugely, covering his mouth as he did so before rising slowly, getting out of bed and fumbling for his uniform.

Today was Sunday. Blessed, blessed Sunday. The one day of the week that they weren't allowed to work. Praise the Lord for this one, indeed. Sundays didn't seem to happen often enough, in his opinion. He rolled one of his shoulders that was still a bit stiff from yesterday once he'd finished changing.

Now he simply stood there, shifting from foot to foot, not wanting to go into the hall. He wasn't certain how to face Alfred after their somewhat awkward conversation last night and was a little worried as to how Alfred was going to treat him in kind. But there was really no use in standing around and worrying about it, right? He had to leave the room or face punishment, anyway. So Arthur figured it was in his best interest to stop being a bloody coward and _talk_ to his friend like there was nothing wrong at all.

Gathering up a bit of courage, Arthur headed into the hall to line up, glancing around over the sea of heads but saw no sign of Alfred. Even as they were called to order and told to head to the chapel for mass, still no sign of Alfred.

Once mass had ended and the group was awaiting their usual prayer session, Arthur craned his neck to search for his friend, frowning and feeling a small pit of worry lodge itself in his stomach. He couldn't have gotten in trouble again, right? Just the thought alone of the same thing happening to Alfred again nauseated him...

He was cut from his distracted thoughts by a sharp rap on the head, wincing as he glanced up with a slight frown, looking up into the falsely sweet face of Patsy Donovan.

"We cannot have people not paying their respect to our dear Lord on his holy day, can we now?"

Arthur sighed faintly. "No, madam."

She seemed satisfied and turned to head to the front of the room as Arthur frowned, moving his fingers to his head. The woman had hit him with the corner of the bible! Was that not sacrilegious? He'd be damned if it wasn't. (Well if it wasn't, it really should be.)

The dim light reflected off the dark curls in Mrs. Donovan's hair as she shifted slightly, leafing through several pages in the bible before clearing her throat.

"Now, we pray."

Arthur bowed his head, following etiquette properly as he should, but his mind was certainly elsewhere. His eyes were glued to the frilly hem of Patsy Donovan's dress and he couldn't focus on a word anyone was saying. Alfred wasn't in church...had he skipped, or had something really happened?

Prayer sessions seemed to go by in a flash, and the workers were free to go and praise the Lord on their own time.

Grateful to be able to finally leave, Arthur made haste in leaving, not looking back. He was, however, stopped by the feel of someone's icy fingers on his shoulder.

"Ah, you wait a moment, won't you dear?"

Arthur wasn't sure which unnerved him more - her sickly sweet voice or the coldness of her skin seeping through the worn fabric of his uniform.

He slowly turned, swallowing hard and schooling his features into a blank and impassive look. "Yes, madam?"

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly before she spoke again.

"Where is that...ah, friend of yours? You and he always seem to be joined at the hip."

Arthur's pulse quickened at the question as well as the simpering little smile she wore. Did the woman know something? For his own sake, Arthur had to pretend like he wasn't worried at all.

"Ah, I'm not entirely certain, madam. I'm afraid I last saw him before it was time for sleep. Perhaps he was attending mass in a different room?" He suggested innocently, forcing himself to meet her eyes briefly.

_Look into her eyes. Know her intentions. Read her to the best of your ability; after all, the eyes are the window to one's soul._

At this, she actually frowned. "Very well then, you may go." Her tone was dismissive, and she seemed rather disappointed and perhaps a touch annoyed. She clearly hadn't gotten the answer she expected or wanted.

"Understood, madam."

Arthur did not hesitate in leaving, moving quickly so that she could not stop him for some other matter. Being alone with Patsy Donovan was almost worse than being alone with her husband...almost. He was very lucky he hadn't been subjected to her usual verbal torment; he'd more often than not seen many a grown man shedding tears after having a confrontation with the woman. Perhaps he was lucky, or perhaps he'd only dug Alfred and himself into an even deeper hole than they already were in with the couple. Ah, well. No use in worrying about that now.

For now, his biggest concern was Alfred. He paused in his walking, glancing about the halls as he pondered where to look. Shaking his head, he picked a hall at random, his eyes focused ahead but not really seeing anything, and before he knew it, he was pulled sideways and into someone's arms. Eyes widening, he kicked and struggled, unable to make a sound as his attacker had a hand over his mouth as well.

Physical strength was never one of his strong points, and whoever had him in their grip was undeniably _very_ strong. Eventually he went limp as he heard a rather familiar voice in his ear.

"Artie, calm down. It's just me. Shh."

His expression of shock was replaced by a scowl as he reached for Alfred's hand over his mouth and tossed it away, receiving no resistance from his friend.

"What- what was that for?" He hissed, his voice a whisper. "What is with you lately? You sneak up on me, pull me into a..." He glanced around, unable to tell just what sort of room Alfred had pulled him into since the lighting was so poor, "...some sort of dank little room and you completely skipped out on mass, of course I was then questioned by our dear matron and you had me so worri - " He coughed, hoping he could cover that slip of the tongue, " - and you had me wondering where you went." He finished lamely.

Alfred was silent for a moment, and during this time, Arthur's eyes began to steadily adjust to the darkness. He could still see hardly anything but he could sort of see Alfred standing in front of him.

"Listen, Arthur. I..." He swallowed, his voice slightly shaky. "I don't think I can go to mass anymore."

Arthur frowned at this. "Don't be absurd, Alfred. You know full well what sorts of trouble you can get into - "

"I know, I know. It's just...it doesn't feel right." His gaze flicked up briefly to meet Arthur's before focusing on the floor. "Not after...well, not anymore."

Alfred was trying to turn away, but Arthur reached up to grasp his shoulders, forcing his friend to meet his gaze.

"Not after...not after what, Alfred?" He kept his tone firm and his gaze even firmer. He would get down to the bottom of whatever Alfred's problem was.

He sighed and shook his head. "You know how I said that Donovan...er, might have..." His voice trailed off into a mumble and Arthur nodded quickly, knowing what he was talking about.

"Yes, yes. What you were saying last night. Go on."

"That might be true, I wasn't lying about that. But I guess I left out another part of it. Um, you know, I..."

Arthur's fingers twitched in their grip on Alfred's shoulders.

"Go on." Arthur said quietly.

Alfred only sighed. "You may not want to be my friend any more after this. But after what Donovan did to me...I did some thinking. I did alot of thinking, actually. More than I ever had. You know, I never told you much about myself and you never told me much about yourself. And we were fine with that, weren't we? We both assumed that our pasts were too much to talk about. But...I have a brother. A younger brother. His...his name is Matthew." Alfred swallowed and took a few deep breaths before continuing. "We lived together. We had little money even though I was working almost all the time. I never even considered giving myself time for personal things, so I never even thought twice about pursuing a romantic relationship...or anything close to it. I liked it being just Matthew and I, even though we barely had anything...I was willing to give up anything I could possibly have if I could just keep what little happiness we had left alive." He was silent for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing before he continued.

"But then...Matthew, he got sick. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't remember feeling so helpless in my life. So I did what little I could do...sold our home away, used what little money we had to send him away with distant family and...well, now I'm here and you can figure out the rest for yourself." His voice grew uncharacteristically subdued by the time he was finished speaking. He looked up into Arthur's eyes.

"You know, Arthur...I like being friends with you, honest. I haven't had time for many close friends. Matthew was really my only friend, so I was glad. You were fun to annoy - "

At this, Arthur distinctly felt his eye twitch. Alfred smiled a ghost of a smile.

" - and you were generally an interesting person, aside from the fact that you act about three times your actual age sometimes."

Arthur gave Alfred's shoulders a firm and hopefully uncomfortable squeeze at this, and Alfred laughed nervously, but his smile slipped away completely as he spoke again.

"As much as I like being your friend, it took what Donovan did to me to make me see. It took a while, and I have done alot of thinking, so I'm pretty sure..." He took a breath again, closing his eyes for a moment as if he were mentally preparing himself. "I might have the same kinds of feelings towards you that I thought Donovan has. So I guess I'm everything he said I was. Sorry."

He lifted his hands to move Arthur's from his shoulders, but Arthur instead grabbed Alfred's wrist, shaking his head desperately.

"Alfred, are...are you serious?" Arthur honestly couldn't believe it. Alfred was thinking there was something wrong with _him?_

"You know, since you shared...I suppose it's only fair I do the same." He said slowly, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them and meeting Alfred's confused gaze as best he could.

"I was born into a wealthy family. The Kirklands were esteemed and honored, and I couldn't have been more proud to have been born under their bloodline."

"Arthur, you don't - "

"I had three older brothers and one younger, and two parents who were clever, talented, and well loved by everyone. My father was a talented businessman, and my mother was an exceptionally clever woman."

"Arthur - "

"Alfred. Let me finish." He met his gaze dead on this time, a sort of determination filling him that he didn't realize he had.

Alfred only nodded mutely now, halting his interruptions as Arthur began to speak again.

"I learned everything I know from my father. He taught me how to read people, he taught me the ways of business, he...even taught me how to handle women, but here is where things get...sticky." Arthur let out a steady breath. "My father was adamant about continuing the family bloodline. All of my older brothers were already married to decent young women and were off living their own lives, but I...I had never taken an interest in the women my father showed me. I suppose this was...because I was never interested in women in the first place. At first I always wondered why this was, but as time passed...it became clear to me. I _couldn't_ fall in love with a woman. It simply would never happen. My father, of course, never knew this; he simply assumed I was a picky sort and laughed it off whenever I turned down his many suitors by telling me that it was well and good that I had such selective tastes."

Arthur kept his gaze trained on the floor now, not having the courage to meet Alfred's gaze until he was completely through with his story.

"So life went on. I took care of my brother when my parents were busy, I practiced business, I read and read quite alot; I lived the life of a noble. But one night, everything went utterly...wretched. My parents were out at one of their usual parties and they were murdered in cold blood. The details escape me now, but I...couldn't even imagine a life without my parents. So I went to live with my brothers. To sum it up, it didn't go well at all; we never did get on very well and they kicked me out quite abruptly after we had a row."

He was silent for a moment, still keeping his gaze on the floor. "And that's the long and short of it, I suppose. So now I'm here and here I'll stay for only God knows how long."

"Artie."

He forced himself to look up at Alfred's face. His eyes were soft and his expression was still so serious.

"You know, Alfred...I've had something wrong with me for quite a long time now and I've kept it from you. For that, I apologize. But I want you to know, there's no reason for you to consider yourself strange. But you really...feel that way about me?" He asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes...really. I do. I may be dense, but I'm honest when it counts." He smiled weakly.

"Damn it all." Arthur murmured. "I suppose I should say I return the sentiments, hm? Though I suppose it was a bit obvious considering the story I told you..."

"Honestly? I feel much better now that we've both gotten that out." Alfred's smile was still rather small, but it was just as brilliant as ever and something about it warmed Arthur.

"As do I." He leaned forward and placed his forehead against Alfred's shoulder, exhaling wearily. He hadn't told anyone about his parents' deaths since he had to tell Peter. And that was honestly much harder than it had been to tell Alfred.

Alfred wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulders in return, and they stayed that way for a moment until Alfred shifted uncomfortably. Arthur smiled softly.

"Shall we get out of this miserable little room? I fear I will not be able to look at sunlight again without going blind now. What exactly _is _this room anyway?" He glanced around as Alfred headed to the door.

"Honestly? I'm not sure. But it doesn't smell that nice in here, so let's go." He took Arthur's hand, a smile flitting about his lips as the two of them stepped out of what appeared to have been some sort of old broom cupboard.

Arthur offered a small smile in return, giving Alfred's hand a light squeeze.

For now, he was satisfied. He was glad for this turn of events, even if it would cause nothing but problems in the future.

The two headed to their rooms, entirely oblivious to their surroundings and high on the feeling of requited love.

So much so that they failed to notice the person that paused to watch them go, gazing at their backs with glinting black eyes the same way a snake might watch its prey.

* * *

Love me? Hate me? Glad I finally freaking updated?

As am I! Hopefully I'll be on a roll from now on. Pardon the extreme lateness, but fun plot for this story, here I come!

I don't have much to say other than I hope the next update will come much, much quicker.

As always, hope you all enjoyed and please review! Feed me reviews like you feed a parrot crackers and you may just get me to spit out a lovely new chapter for you all in no time :D

...No, I'm not saying I'm bribed by reviews. Whatever gives you that idea?


	4. Two Serpents and an Apple

I am so, so, so sorry for my lack of updates for so long. I get myself into these writing slumps and they last for months. I find it difficult to pull myself out of them, most of the time.

Anyway. This chapter will be a little bit different. Think of it as me trying to get back into the swing of things? For now, we get some characterization on the Donovan couple. The USUK goodness shall return next chapter :3

Read on~

* * *

**Interlude.**

_Two Serpents and an Apple_

* * *

Disgusting.

The stench of pigs, truly. Was this what their country had come to? The poor were like rats, reproducing incessantly and scurrying after the faintest crumbs. They were dirty, an eyesore, and who truly wanted them there? So, what better place was there to put them?

Nowhere better than the workhouses.

Patsy Donovan took her duties as Matron of the workhouse very, very seriously. She'd taken over a majority of the prayers sessions on Sundays, and took to disciplining the filth when her husband could not.

However. She could not very well show her feelings to anyone else, now could she?

That would be rash and careless. Oh, no. She and her husband had been appointed to this job especially, and she wasn't about to sabotage their luck. She considered herself something of a talented actress.

The rats feared her, truly, but she was never outwardly cruel to them. She was clever about it. Rather than beating them as her husband was wont to do, she preferred more subtle methods of punishment.

Perhaps it was having meals taken away or extra work hours added. But those were only the _basics_. And they truly didn't teach the lesson properly. So she had her own methods.

Words could be sharper than knives, if used properly. If the misdeed called for it, she could occasionally request her husband to allow her some time with the rat. And she would handle it flawlessly and skillfully, yet demurely, as a woman should. She would emerge from punishing a worker without a drop of sweat, blood, or filth on her person. However, most anyone she had time with was broken, and not in a way that would heal over time as her husband would do. Oh, he was harsh and cruel towards them when it came down to it, but he was so very lacking in _vision_. He had no vision for what he could do or what he was able to do.

So, the prayer sessions. Perhaps there was a hope for the souls of these creatures after all. That was why she did these things. The grace of God was powerful, after all. No being was more forgiving than he. Although - as devout as she was - she did have her doubts.

Because she was so strong about her faith, there were several things that irked her. Sodomites, for one. Damned and doomed from the beginning, they were. Filthiness itself deserved to be a sin; it was simply against _nature_ for a human to resemble a primate so.

There was a third thing that irked her far more than the first two ever could. _Liars_. Being lied to was no better than having dung thrown in your face. It was rude, positively horrifying, and so _disgusting_ and _filthy_.

She liked to think she could tell when she was being lied to. It was all in the eyes; the eyes showed weakness and anxiety, they were lying. Watch their body movements. If they were sweating and fidgeting as they spoke, they were lying. Listen to their voice. If their voice trembled and they paused often, then no surprise - they were lying.

There was one rat this didn't quite apply to.

That _Arthur Kirkland_. He had the perfect mask; it rarely ever cracked or shifted. His manner of speaking was more refined than the rest of them, too; he spoke like a gentleman brought up by a good family. But that was impossible! What would a gentleman be doing in a place of filth and refuse like the workhouses? It made no sense.

However, he lied. She was sure of it. No, he hadn't seen that Jones boy. He hadn't seen him since the night before, he said. She wanted to gnash her teeth and stop her feet, but that would be incredibly unladylike. And Patsy was far from unladylike.

She hadn't been sure at first, but her husband's mysterious obsession with those boys caused her to focus on them more than usual. She'd just been leaving the chapel, and had seen something that she couldn't quite believe, at first.

Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland, hand in hand. Two men, acting like lovers? Her fingers curled around her bible as if she thought it alone would ward off the horrid sight before her. So...that Arthur Kirkland had lied to her after all.

She whirled around in a storm of lace and skirts, marching down the halls and practically shoving workers out of the way as she went, leaving confusion and terror in her place.

"Oscar!" She hissed, sounding much like an undignified reptile before calming herself, allowing her eyes to meet her husband's.

"Dearest husband," She trilled, slinking towards him and putting her hands on his shoulders. Her actions were not unlike the serpent's that had tempted Eve to take the first bite of the fruit. Her eyes were twinkling with a strange, almost manic light.

"I think you know why I've come. See, it's the ones you've been worrying about. I think you shall have to crack down a bit harder on them, love. They'll need it." She kissed his cheek lightly, and he turned to face her, setting down the book he'd been reading and fixing his eyes on his whip for a long moment.

"What were you thinking, love?" He asked her, finally turning to her, his dark eyes meeting her equally dark ones.

She smiled. "No rotting flower of love between sodomites shall bloom here. Not in my workhouse. Not under my watch. I'll squash this bud, dearest. But I do fear I shall need your help."

Her husband turned and took her hand, kissing the back of it lightly.

"If my dear wife requests this of me," he smiled faintly, though his eyes remained as dark and indecipherable as ever, "who am I to deny her?"

Patsy could not hold in the childish giggle that escaped her in that moment.

* * *

Yes, it's short. But we get to see a little bit of what Patsy is feeling now. She's a somewhat pivotal character in her own right. Yes, she's an evil bitch, but hey. She was designed to be a villain, forgive me if she has little personality beyond that.

Just mostly wanted to show the connection between the two of them. It's not quite love, but something a little darker, I think...


End file.
